


Simmer Down and Pucker Up

by auchic



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Episode Tag, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auchic/pseuds/auchic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cobblepot being here only brought trouble, more trouble, would only end badly on Jim’s part, getting him stuck deeper in the mire that was Gotham</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simmer Down and Pucker Up

**Author's Note:**

> See the notes at the end re: the dub-con tag

_Are there some aces up your sleeve?  
Have you no idea that you’re in deep?_

He stopped and bought a bottle of scotch before going home.

Before, he would have had a drink as well, but a beer or two, just enough to run relaxation through his veins. And Barbara would be there, and that would be enough to soothe him further, to sit back and talk about easy, innocuous things that would let him, for a few hours anyway, not think about Gotham.

But Barbara was gone.

So was a third of the bottle. He would most likely regret that in the morning, but with every sip, the memories of the past few days grew hazier, thinner, like they were from a movie he’d watched once instead of his fucked up life.

He needed to forget...

_abandoned warehouse...empty milk cartons strewn about...the sickening crunch of all those bones breaking like twigs...Selina Kyle...Steiner...Potolsky...Warehouse 39...Maroni and Cobblepot..._

Christ. He needed another drink.

The knock startled him as he poured, jostling the bottle so that scotch ran down his wrist. He ignored the door as he clumsily wiped at the spill with his shirttails; there wasn’t anyone behind it that he wanted to see, not right now.

Whoever it was didn’t know that, though – they knocked again. He wanted them to stop, to go away and leave him with his bottle, but his unwanted company didn’t seem to get that, and the knocking was irritating. He stood and the room rocked slightly, causing him to stumble a little as he made his way to the door and pulled it open.

He probably, really, should have expected this, but he’d been so intent on pushing it all out of his mind, that he never thought for a minute that...

“Hello James.”

...Oswald Cobblepot would come to his door, hands behind his back and that little supercilious smirk on his lips.

“What the hell’re you doing here?” he said.

“Why James, I thought that would be obvious,” Cobblepot replied, bringing his hands forward and spreading them, a placating gesture. The hallway light threw his face into high relief, bruises standing out against his pale skin. “There’s so much we need to discuss. May I come in?”

He should say no. He needs to say no, needs to slam the door in the little weasel’s face and go back to his bottle, to forgetting. Cobblepot being here only brought trouble, more trouble, would only end badly on Jim’s part, getting him stuck deeper in the mire that was Gotham. 

“No.”

Cobblepot’s expression didn’t change, but Jim saw something flicker in his eyes, something dark and desperate. “You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. Please.”

Maybe if his mind was less muddled with scotch, he’d be able to rationalise this better, distance himself from this man, but his curiosity won out in the end. He stepped aside and let Cobblepot enter, closing the door behind him. He walked slowly back to his bottle, watching the other man move to the window.

“Your view is stunning,” Cobblepot said, turning his head a little to catch Jim’s eye. “From up here, Gotham looks so magnificent, so-“

“Just tell me what the fuck Maroni wants and get out,” Jim interrupted, pouring more into his glass. 

Cobblepot turned around. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Jim asked, biting his words off angrily. “What, he didn’t think I got it back at the restaurant? I’m a little surprised he sent you, though.”

And damn it, the smirk widened. “You misunderstand, James-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“-I’m not here on behalf of Mr. Maroni. I’m here to discuss me and you.”

“We’ve got nothing to ‘discuss’ there, so you can kindly get out of here and leave me alone.” He punctuated his words with a wave of his hand towards the door, slopping scotch on his wrist again. 

Cobblepot chuckled. “Oh James, of course we do.”

“What? How much more you can mess with my life?”

“The opposite, actually.”

Jim watched warily as Cobblepot walked back toward him, the low lights in the apartment throwing his face half into shadow. “Really,” he said.

Cobblepot stopped just a couple of feet away from him. “As you are aware, you’ve saved my life twice now. I believe I owe you a little gratitude, at the very least.” He bowed slightly with his words.

Jim snorted. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said.

“Nothing at all?”

“How ‘bout if you leave town, and never come back?” Jim had to smirk a little at that one. “Oh wait, we already tried that one.”

Cobblepot smiled back. “You know I can’t leave, James. Gotham is my home, and besides-”

“‘There’s a war coming,’ I know.”

“More than that. If I disappeared right now, Salvatore Maroni would be looking for answers, and where do you think he’ll come first?” He cocked an eyebrow.

Christ. He was right, much as Jim didn’t want to believe it. “I still don’t want anything from you. Just leave me alone.”

“There has to be something I can do. Anything.”

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted Cobblepot to shut up, to get out and never come back, and forget that he owed Jim Gordon anything, that Jim Gordon even existed. He wanted Cobblepot to get away from him and he reached out to push at his shoulder, push him away, but he felt off balance, his head fuzzy from the alcohol and instead his hand lingered on Cobblepot’s shoulder, something to lean on until he came back to his senses.

“Oh,” and Jim had to look up at that, because Cobblepot’s voice had softened, and there was a glint in his eyes now, and Jim’s hand was slipping away because Cobblepot was moving, shrinking...no, kneeling, and then there were hands on his thighs and he wished he could just focus for a second. “I’ll admit, this is unexpected, but I did say anything, didn’t I?”

“Wait,” Jim said weakly, but Cobblepot was already undoing his belt and Jim couldn’t seem to get his hands to do what he wanted. “Wait. I didn’t-”

“Shh, James, just relax,” and Jim couldn’t look away, watched as Cobblepot went for his fly next, pulling his pants out of the way and then his boxers and then as those hands slid back up his bare thighs, up towards his cock. “Relax while I take care of you.”

The hands were warm and smooth, stroking his cock firmly. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back as arousal thrummed through his veins, his body getting warm with want. “Jesus,” he whispered and then his hips were moving too, the hands speeding up and he was so hard, he wasn’t going to last very long like this.

Then the hands stopped, were gone and, “Christ!” His eyes shot open when the head of his cock was enveloped into hot and wet. He stared at the ceiling as more of that mouth slid over his cock, taking him in deeper and he couldn’t help it, his hand coming up and resting in soft, slick hair.

Cobblepot made a noise and Jim looked down, his eyes meeting dark ones. This time he was watching as Cobblepot, without breaking eye contact, sucked more of Jim’s cock into his mouth and he groaned. There was a voice screaming through the haze of his mind that this was wrong, that this would make things so much worse, but he wasn’t going to stop this.

His hips were still moving, slightly, and the hands were back, one gripping the base of his cock and the other stroking his hip. He stared at those lips stretched over his shaft, the cut from earlier split open again. It had to be painful as hell, but Cobblepot wasn’t stopping, wasn’t even making any noise even when Jim’s knees went weak and his hips thrust harder. He braced himself against the chair, glass of scotch finally falling from his other hand. Cobblepot followed, taking him down to the base again.

He felt like it would go on forever, watching the sleek head move back and forward, but his arousal spiked hard. “I’m gonna come,” he gasped and let his hand drop away, but Cobblepot didn’t move away, kept sucking, and Jim came hard into his mouth.

Orgasm had sobered him slightly, enough that he could feel a feeble sort of disgust at himself. His hands were shaking as he repaired his pants and to delay the moment when he would have to face the other man, he leaned down to pick up the glass he had dropped. An tiny amount of scotch was left and Jim drained it.

Across from him, Cobblepot was straightening himself, smoothing the hair Jim had displaced. When he caught Jim’s eye, he slowly ran the edge of his thumb across his lower lip, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

Jim couldn’t look away. “We square now?”

Cobblepot’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? I think I’m a little more grateful than that.” His voice was rough.

“I don’t need your gratitude.”

Cobblepot stood, and Jim could see he was hard. He brushed his shoulder lightly against Jim’s as he walked to the door, so that Jim turned to watch him go. “Very well,” he said, when his hand was on the doorknob. “But do keep my offer in mind should you need anything else.” With one last smirk, he opened the door and disappeared, leaving Jim frozen and breathing hard.

 

Bullock was sitting at his desk, tapping a manila envelope against his thigh. “Jesus, Jim, you look like shit.”

“Good morning to you too,” Jim said wearily.

“Tell you what, let’s go get coffee at Rosie’s, my treat.”

“Isn’t there coffee here?” The stationhouse wasn’t particularly quiet, but it was definitely a relief from the general insanity outside.

“Nah, I think you need better than that today. Let’s go,” Bullock stood and gave him a push.

Thankfully the morning was overcast; his head was killing him. Bullock had to know he was hung over, as he kept up a steady stream of inane chatter through the walk to the coffee shop, the line up to order and waiting for the barista to make their drinks. It wasn’t until they were nearly back at the station when he shut up, pushing the manila envelope against Jim’s chest and manoeuvring him into a nearby alley. “What the hell, Harvey?”

Bullock nodded to the envelope, “That belongs to you.”

He shifted his coffee cup around so he could grip the envelope enough for his other hand to pull out the contents, but everything fell anyway when he saw what they were.

The photographer had done a hell of a job: somehow Jim was lit perfectly, head tipped back and pants open, but his companion was in shadows, just enough detail to be able to tell that the figure kneeling in front of him was male. Jim’s fingers tightened as he flipped through the stack. He looked up at Bullock. “You-”

“Yeah, I looked, sue me. You’re lucky it was me that got curious, Jim, d’you know what you’d be facing if I hadn’t got to them?” Bullock rubbed his chin. “Look, I don’t give a fuck what’s going on in your personal life; in fact, keep it far the hell away from me. But shit like this could ruin you if it got in the wrong hands.”

“I’m so glad you’re there to look out for me,” Jim said sarcastically.

“Fine,” Bullock said, rolling his eyes. “Be a smartass about it, but I like you, Gordon, and for what it’s worth, I am trying to help.” He turned and walked back to the street. “Break’s over in 5 minutes,” he yelled before he disappeared.

Jim shifted until his back hit the wall behind him, still staring at the pictures. He wanted to tear at them, rip them apart until there was nothing left, but he knew it was useless; destroying the copies in his hand wasn’t going to hurt the originals he knew Maroni had.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the display – a number he didn’t recognise. Taking a deep breath, he answered, “Gordon.”

“Hello James. How are you this morning?”

He had to laugh, albeit humourlessly. “Wishing I had killed you when I had the chance.”

“Ah, I take it you received my gift.”

“Your gift? Don’t you mean Maroni’s, you two-faced-”

A tsk-ing sound cut him off. “I told you, James, this is between you and me.”

“Really. So what are the pictures for,?”

He could hear Cobblepot smirking over the line. “Why don’t we call them insurance?”

“Insurance.” Jim laughed hollowly again. “What the hell do you need insurance for? If anyone finds out you’re alive, I’m a dead man, that’s your insurance. You might as well turn me into Falcone and Fish Mooney right now if you’re going to be handing these out everywhere.”

“You’re of no use to me dead, James.”

“But you are planning on using me.”

“Actually,” Cobblepot’s voice dropped and Jim shivered, “I was hoping we could use each other. After all, there are plenty of reasons to be...grateful, don’t you agree?”

Jim sighed. “I don’t need anything from you,” he said quietly.

Cobblepot laughed, low and warm. “We can always discuss that later. Until then, James.” There was a click and the line was dead.

He stood there staring for another long minute, his head throbbing and his stomach roiling. The pictures he tore into confetti, tossing them in the remains of his coffee. Before he put his phone away, though, he made sure to save the unknown number to his contacts.

Insurance.

_I dreamt about you nearly every night this week  
How many secrets can you keep?_

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics come from Arctic Monkeys song "Do I Wanna Know"
> 
> I tagged this dub-con because a) Jim is drunk and b) he does protest.


End file.
